


Eight Weeks Probation

by igrockspock



Category: Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Post-Movie(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:42:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrockspock/pseuds/igrockspock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long time ago, Logan and Mac used to be friends... Wait, no, it was more like they existed in a state of mutual toleration followed by nine years of radio silence.  If Logan wants this thing with Veronica to work out, he might want to fix that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eight Weeks Probation

Logan finds Mac on the shoulder of the Pacific Coast Highway, staring disconsolately at a flat tire. Mac is not exactly a member of the Logan Echolls fan club, but that’s all the more reason to pull over behind her. It would be nice if Veronica’s nearest and dearest would consider not hating him sometime soon.

“Oh, hey, Logan,” Mac says, looking uncertain. Logan figures it’s the closest Mac ever gets to saying _I hate you, go away._

“Car trouble?” he asks.

“Yeah. There was a board filled with nails. In retrospect, it was a bad idea to run over it.”

“I could fix that for you,” he says, gesturing at the tire.

“You don’t have to do that,” Mac says, a touch too quickly. “I mean, Triple A is coming. Or they will come. You know, whenever I find my card.”

“So... ten minutes digging through your purse, a quick jaunt down the highway to find someplace with a cell signal, and then forty-five minutes to wait for the tow truck? I see the appeal, but you should probably just let me fix it.” He reaches into the open driver’s window to press the trunk release.

Mac watches him uneasily as he shifts the contents of the trunk aside to find the spare tire and the jack. One box is too big to push aside, so he lifts it out and Mac rushes toward him, holding out her arms.

“You should really let me get that,” she says. “It’s heavy.”

“Not a big deal. Picking up heavy things is kind of a thing we do in the Navy,” Logan says, depositing the box on the asphalt behind her car. “It’s not the components of a supercomputer that will take over the earth, right?”

“No. Just books and stuff that I was cleaning out of my girlfriend’s house. _Ex_ -girlfriend’s, I mean. That’s how I spent my day. Cleaning stuff out of my ex’s house, and now I have a flat tire. So, you know, it’s an awesome day.”

“Are you okay?” Logan asks reflexively, kneeling on the ground so he can jack up the car.

“Yeah, I mean, kind of. In principle. She just...met somebody else. It happens. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m talking to you about this.”

“It’s probably because I asked,” Logan says.

She watches Logan twist the lug nuts off the flat tire, and her eyes widen. “You really have to stop doing this.”

“Doing what?” Logan asks, leaning hard against the tire iron. Someone had done an excellent job making sure that Mac’s tires would never, ever fall off the car.

Mac gestures vaguely at the tools arrayed on the ground. “Being all...sensitive and manly and helpful and stuff.”

“Why?” Logan asks. “Because you don’t like me?” The stubborn lug nut finally gives, and he narrowly manages to avoid face planting on the ground.

“I don’t not like you,” Mac says hastily. “I mean, except for the part where I, um, don’t like you and think you’re terrible for Veronica?”

“It’s okay, Mac,” he says. “I can change tires for people who don’t like me.” The flat tire slips off, leaving streaks of grease behind on his hands.

“But it makes me feel _really_ guilty,” Mac says, her face turning red.

“You _could_ consider liking me. Just a thought,” he says, keeping the sarcasm in his voice to a bare minimum. The spare tire slides neatly onto the axle, and he reaches for the tire iron so he can screw it in place. “I think your empirical data on the whole ‘not good for Veronica’ thing is about ten years old.” He looks up at her. “Tabloid rumors aside, have I _actually_ done anything bad since Veronica came back?”

Mac twists her hands uneasily. “Please don’t make reasonable arguments using scientific vocabulary. It makes you so much harder to resist.” She looks down at the ground. “And no, you _haven’t_ done anything bad. It’s just that Veronica’s my friend, and I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“Well, that’s one thing we have in common,” Logan says, standing up so he can put the tools back into the trunk.

“I could probably agree to withhold judgment until adequate data is available to make a decision,” she says as Logan shuts the trunk. “I mean, since you did just fix my car.”

“It’s a deal,” Logan says. “But if the data says I’m _good_ for Veronica…”

“Then I have to like you,” Mac says solemnly. “That would be weird, but I could do it.”

“Out of curiousity, is there a time frame on this deal?” Logan asks.

“Umm...two months? If that works for you?”

“A touch long, but I can manage,” he says. “I’ll await your decision in eight weeks’ time.”

***

Three weeks later, Logan runs into Mac as she’s leaving a bar. Literally runs into her. She collides with his chest on her way out the door.

“I am so sorry,” she gasps without looking up, and Logan grabs her elbow to steady her.

“Are you okay, Mac?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’m fine. Wasn’t really expecting to see you here, that’s all.”

“That’s disappointing,” Logan says. “I thought I had a reputation for drunken bacchanalia, and this _is_ a bar, right? You’re doing a pretty fabulous job not looking me in the eye, by the way.” 

Mac finally looks at him, and he can see that her eyes are wet.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asks, even though he's pretty sure it has something to do with the cute redhead in the corner holding hands with a girl who's got about twelve spikes through her eyebrow.

Mac follows his gaze. "Yup. Ex-girlfriend with her new girlfriend. I was going for a dramatic exit, but you kind of got in the way. If you could just, you know..." Mac motions him away from the door.

Right. Logan knows the feeling; it wasn't that much more than a year ago that he'd started finding Carrie in bars with strange men. Of course, he'd always preferred fisticuffs to a dramatic exit. He's trying to find a way to tell Mac that he feels her pain, but she looks up at him pleadingly.

"Come on. Let a girl have her flounce," she says, shooing him away from the door again.

Logan doesn't move. He does hold the door open for her. Politeness and all.

Mac comes back in about twelve seconds.

"Have a drink wtih me. Please. I really don't think I could stand myself if I went and cried in my hipster beer all alone."

Logan follows her out into the parking lot, hoping that he's not actually going to have to drink hipster beer. The things he'll do for love of Veronica.

"So which one was the ex - the redhead, or her friend Hellraiser?" Logan asks. The night air is cool, and he shoves his hands deeper into the pockets of his peacoat.

Mac huffs. "The redhead, thank you very much. I have standards, you know."

"Well, if she gave _you_ up for _that_ , she seriously miscalculated."

"I know, right?" Mac grins, but her eyes still look watery. "And she was cheating on me for, like, two months and I didn't even know."

Logan grimaces. "Been there. Frequent hazard of hundred and eighty day deployments."

"Oh," Mac says, and Logan really wishes people would stop looking surprised to find he has human emotions. "Any sage advice for weathering romantic betrayal?" she asks.

"Well, I usually punch the other guy in the face," Logan says, swallowing his annoyance.

"And then you win your girl back with a display of manliness and virility?"

"Uh, more like some nice photographers put my picture in the paper, and then a nice Admiral yells at me and I end up on restriction." Lieutenant Commander Echolls isn't a thing that's going to happen anytime soon.

"Guess I'll mark violence off my list. I'm pretty sure I'm too nerdy for a barfight anyway." Mac smiles wryly, but Logan's gratified to see she looks a little happier now. 

She leads them to a bar up the street and sure enough, the door opens to a vast expanse of flannel, a menu of a hundred and forty-two pretentious beers, and a bar tender who's having a seriously misguided love affair with mustache wax.

"What can I do for ya?" he asks.

Logan plops down on a vintage-looking barstool. "We'll have two of your snootiest beers, please. And some eyeglasses from 1954 if you have them."

Mac raises her eyebrows. "Did you have to be an asshole?"

"To that guy? Yes. It is a moral imperative to be an asshole to anyone who (a) has a mustache and (b) waxes it." He turns to inspect the other patrons, most of whom are masquerading as lumberjacks and pin-up girls. "Out of curiosity, is this actually the kind of place you like to hang out?"

"Yes. But only for the people watching."

"And by extension, the people mocking?"

Mac sighs. "Okay, you got me. But I only make fun of people behind their backs." She takes a deep breath. "Actually, the whole making fun of people to their faces is why I don't like you. I mean, don't get me wrong. The tumultous affair with Veronica is also an important component. But I mostly don't like you because you were kind of an asshole in high school, especially to people like me."

Right. Logan tries to remember if he'd ever done anything to Mac and comes up blank. But then, there were about two years when he'd thought everyone outside his zip code was basically a gnat, so it's hard to make guarantees.

"That's fair," Logan says, choosing his words carefully. The truth is, he's kind of tired of apologizing for the person he was ten years ago, and being close to Veronica seems to entail meeting a lot of people who want him to do just that. But then, he doubts Mac would be here if she weren't willing to forgive him. "I was pretty messed up then," he says, "but I know that's not much consolation when someone is making you feel like shit. I don't know if an apology makes it better, but for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"It might help a little bit. I mean, a teeny tiny bit," Mac says, holding up her thumb and index finger about a milimeter apart. "Maybe like, the sixth circle of hell instead of the seventh."

Logan grins and clinks his glass against hers. "From your lips to Lucifer's ears."

***

The next time Logan runs into Mac, he's at a strip mall on the dodgy end of Neptune. She's leaning against her car with a latte in her hand, staring at a bar across the parking lot and looking decidedly out of place. He decides to lean against her car too.

“Meow Mix. Nice,” Logan says, studying the neon letters anchored to the door above the bar. “Would that be a strip club, a lesbian bar, or both?”

Mac's eyes widen. "Oh god, do you think there are really strippers?"

"There are windows, so probably not," Logan says. "What are you doing here, Mac? That doesn't seem like your kind of neighborhood."

"In theory, I'm meeting women at a bar where I never went with my ex. In actuality, I'm about to jump in my car and drive away really fast. And correct me if I'm wrong, but you belong here even less than I do."

"Touché. But for the best Chinese food in Neptune, I'm willing to go out of my way," Logan says, holding a greasy take-out bag aloft. "I'll go in with you if you want. I'm actually a pretty good wingman."

"Please tell me you're not making puns now. I don't know if I could take that."

"Technically, I don't think that's a pun. Just something that's literally and metaphorically true. So what do you say?"

Mac bites her lip. "Won't your Chinese food get cold?"

"This? I'm pretty sure I can eat it in less than three minutes."

"That sounds gross," Mac says.

"Then you'd probably better not look," Logan says. He puts the bag down on the trunk of Mac's car and unpacks a pint of sweet and sour chicken and a paper carton of fried rice. Then he sets the timer on his phone, just because he can. He finishes in 2:45.

Mac stares at him with a mixture of awe and horror. "I don't understand how you're not dead. Is that a special Navy skill?"

"Yes. The eating fast, and also the not dying." He looks at the Meow Mix sign flashing across the parking lot. "Are we going to get you a hot lesbian or what?"

Mac shifts uneasily. "Um, Logan, there might be some men in there too. And they might..."

"Hit on me? Yeah, I thought I could solve that problem by telling them I'm straight." He sighs when he sees the surprised expression on Mac's face. "You know, ten years ago, I distinctly remember you having blue hair and never calling me an asshole. You're not the only person who's changed since high school. And you're stalling." He grabs Mac's sleeve and tugs her across the parking lot.

The bar is smoky and dimly lit, and Mac tries to steer them toward a table in the corner.

Logan, ever the faithful wingman, doesn't let her. "That's not how this works. You need to be in the middle of the room so you can see people and they can see you."

"Oh." Mac nods thoughtfully. "Good advice."

Logan scans the women leaning against the bar. "So what are we looking for? Blonde? Brunette? Curvy? Willowy and petite?"

Mac's mouth opens and closes. "I'm, uh, not exactly sure. I just figured I would know it when I saw it."

Logan narrows his eyes. "You don't do this often, do you?"

"If by not often, you mean never, then you would be right." She tugs her jacket down, looking resolute. "But I am a single twenty-eight-year-old woman, and it's not too late for new experiences, right?"

"Right," Logan agrees, shifting so he can get a better look at the room. "There's a cute blonde checking out your ass at four o'clock."

"Really?" Mac exclaims and looks over her shoulder at what might generously be called eight o'clock.

Logan makes a concerted effort to shift his entire perspective on the world. "Try your other four o'clock. Um, behind you and kind of to the left. Is that better?"

"Are you actually a fighter pilot?" Mac bursts out. "Or is that just something they made up on TV because it sounded more interesting? Well, okay, judging from the expression on your face, that wasn't a good question to ask. I mean, I know you can fly things. I saw the wings on your uniform that one time. I just thought...maybe you didn't fly the, um, really cool things." Mac's voice trails off and she buries her face in her hands. "I'm an asshole. I'm sorry. You should just call me an asshole and I'll feel better." 

Mac looks up at him cautiously, and her whole face is red. Logan's rancor vanishes.

"I'm pretty sure you're the furthest thing from an asshole," Logan says. "You might want to get that verbal diarrhea problem checked out though."

Mac sighs. "I have it on good authority that it's incurable."

"Well, we all have flaws," Logan says. "What about the blonde?"

Mac actually manages to look in the right place this time, but she shakes her head. "I don't think she's my type. She's too..."

"Aggressive-looking?" Logan tries.

"I think it's the dog collar," Mac agrees.

"You know, I've never really gone for women with dog collars either. The good news is, that eliminates roughly half the people here," Logan says. He turns around slowly, trying to find a new candidate without looking like the creepy straight dude who came to indulge his girl-on-girl fantasies. It's a little harder than helping his buddies pick up girls at the ACRAC, but then, he's never been one to back down from a challenge.

"Brunette directly behind me, stacked, not wearing anything pointy," Logan says. He thinks she's a suitable candidate, even if he'd chosen her because her exact location could be conveyed without reference to any Naval terminology such as a clock dial, bearings, headings, or degrees.

"I can't do this anymore," Mac says, burying her face in her hands.

"What? We've only been here ten minutes," Logan says. He doesn't add that he likes this _way_ better than the hipster bar.

"Not picking up girls. Well, okay, maybe I'm not meant for anonymous sex with strangers. But what I meant was I can't pretend not to like you anymore. I mean, I was really trying. You have four weeks left on the whole probation thing, and you really _were_ an asshole before...but you kind of keep being here for me, even though you barely know me."

"It's not a problem," Logan says. Hanging out with Mac had started as a way to solidify his relationship with Veronica, but it's more than that now. He likes her, and after two years among Carrie's highly questionable friends, it's nice to know people who are actually, well, _nice_.

"See, there you go, being nice again," Mac says, sounding defeated. "This next part is going to make me feel even guiltier."

"And what would that be?" Logan asks, trying and failing to suppress a level of world weariness that he's pretty sure a twenty-eight-year-old shouldn't feel. He wonders if there will ever be a time when someone says, _Logan Echolls, I like you completely and unreservedly with no strings attached._

"What you're doing for me, I won't be able to do for you if you break up with Veronica. No changing your tire by the side of the road, no going to bars I hate just to cheer you up, definitely no helping you pick up a rebound girl in a shady bar." Mac frowns, which is actually pretty adorable. "Nope. If you and Veronica break up, moral law dictates that I hate you for all eternity."

Logan lets out a long breath. That's actually not as bad as he thought it would be. "If it's any consolation, if I break up with Veronica, _I'll_ hate myself for all eternity." He studies Mac carefully. "So are we cleared to be friends now, or do you have more hoops for me to jump through?"

Mac contemplates the array of rough-looking women clustered around the bar. "If I say I want to leave here and eat so-bad-it's-good Chinese food and play video games, does that constitute a hoop?"

"Not the last time I checked," Logan says, draining his beer. "Race you to finish a pint of sweet and sour chicken?"

"So I can choke, you can give me the Heimlich, and Chinese food will be ruined forever?" Mac asks, pushing her untouched beer to the side of the table.

"Beat all your high scores with my superior reflexes?" he tries.

"Still a cocky bastard," she says. "Bring it."

"And if I win, you'll help me make Keith Mars like me?" he says as they step out into the parking lot together.

Mac grimaces. "Can't do the impossible. I could help you out with Wallace though. Here's a hint: it involves cheese fries and basketball."

"Mmm, I think I figured that one out already," Logan says.

"Which is why you've been avoiding him for at least six weeks," Mac says, nudging him in the ribs.

"It's possible I could use a little help arranging that," Logan admits.

Mac smiles. "Anything for a friend."

**Author's Note:**

> A note on characterization: The premise of the fic is based on the line in the movie where Veronica invites Logan to dinner with Mac and Wallace, and he implies that he doesn't want to go because they don't like him. Nothing Mac does in the film makes me think that she and Logan had been in contact during the nine years between the end of the series and the beginning of the movie, but I haven't watched all of season 3 yet. So...no guarantees that this fic is totally canon compliant. Let's just call it slightly AU if we need to, okay?


End file.
